


One Part Trust, Two Parts Fear

by Ladelle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladelle/pseuds/Ladelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s worried that Stiles doesn’t trust him, and Stiles just wants to go to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Part Trust, Two Parts Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! First thing I've written for Teen Wolf.

He wasn’t fast enough.  
  
The thought chewed at Stiles as he skittered through the darkened woodlands, tossing anxious glances over his shoulder to see where the piercing beams of the flashlights were aimed. On one such glance, he was nearly blinded when one caught him dead on, and he skidded sideways when tree bark exploded next to him from a missed gunshot.  
  
“Over there!” A voice shouted, and Stiles winced, feeling pretty positive that he was the one the hunters had spotted. He ran faster, but only a little. He was just a human, after all, and there was only so much he could do.  
  
Light pierced a clearing nearly ten feet ahead of him and it took all of his power to stumble to a stop, and he tripped over himself as he tried to stagger backwards and hide behind a tree. He scrambled along the dewy carpet of mud and mulch, and gasped when he felt a hot hand circle his neck and force him down against the ground. He coughed, but whoever had face-planted him—presumably Derek, because it seemed like an incredibly alpha thing to do—pressed against him almost immediately after.  
  
“One of these days, oh high and mighty leader, you’re going to snap my neck,” Stiles wheezed against dry leaves and dirt.  
  
“Quiet.” Derek hissed sharply.  
  
Stiles swallowed thick in his throat when footsteps rustled nearby and voices erupted from the shadows. He could practically feel the frustration rolling off Derek. It came in waves and radiated, making Stiles unusually nervous. He hated the way that Derek affected him, even though he wasn’t technically a part of the pack.  
  
“They had to have come around this way,” a female voice said, and she sounded close to out-of breath. “I saw them.”  
  
“You saw one of them,” a stern voice clarified, this time a male’s. “There were four and they scattered to the woods the moment we set foot—“  
  
“They were downwind,” the woman interrupted. “Our mistake. They could smell us before we could get a good shot.”  
  
The man cursed, and Stiles felt Derek’s grip on him tighten. Sometimes the alpha forgot his own strength. Or maybe there were just enough werewolves around these days that he didn’t worry about hiding it as much as before. There was also the chance that Derek had developed a nasty habit of simply forgetting that Stiles wasn’t a werewolf, with the way they all traveled together, and basically made like a pack.  
  
“They can’t have gotten far,” the woman’s voice was louder.  
  
Stiles could feel Derek bristle as the hunters approached, twigs cracking under their boots.  
  
For a split second, Stiles wondered why Derek didn’t just attack them. Then he remembered what they’d all discussed before they’d left town; that in some severely inconvenient unwritten code of werewolf ethics, killing in another alpha’s turf was completely out of the question. So at Derek’s command to high-tail it through the woods, Scott and Jackson had taken off without looking back. And while Stiles was grateful that Derek had been looking out for him, he also knew he was dead weight. Now, with the hunters literally on the other side of the tree they were tucked under, there was only one thing they could really do.  
  
“Take me hostage.” Stiles barely whispered, knowing Derek could hear it clear as day. The response he got was sharp.  
  
“What?”  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes, especially when he knew that, at any moment, the two hunters were going to round the corner and see them.  
  
“Pretend like you’re going to kill me,” Stiles rephrased. “They’ll just take me back to town—“  
  
“No.” Derek’s reply was blunt, but Stiles knew the idea was the best one they had, especially when running wasn’t an option when they’d be racing against bullets. He twisted his head towards Derek, his cheek scraping against the mud beneath him before they locked eyes.  
  
“You got a better idea?”  
  
When all else failed, the truth usually proved point. Indecision made a brief appearance in the deep set blue of Derek’s eyes, and disappeared as his eyes changed yellow, and he transformed.  
  
Stiles yelped when he was dragged up from the ground and nearly hauled to his tip-toes. Derek made a good show of rounding the tree to face the hunters, and Stiles coughed as his shirt collar rode up to his chin and threatened to choke him. His fingers scratched and clawed at the neck of his shirt, and his feet dangled precariously above the ground, hardly brushing the dirt’s surface.  
  
“If you don’t want this one dead, drop your weapons.” Derek snarled, and Stiles gasped as Derek’s grip loosened, and his feet found good standing. The relief vanished quickly, however, because Derek yanked him backwards and pressed a claw to his throat.  
  
The two hunters looked back and forth to each other and then turned their attention to Stiles. Derek nudged him from behind, and he blinked before turning on the theatrics.  
  
“Please, help me!” He struggled a bit and did his best to look terrified and babbled the way he normally did when he couldn’t think of anything good to say. “Oh God, my life is flashing in front of my eyes! I still haven’t played first line. I haven’t kissed Lydia. I _still_ don’t know if gay men find me attractive!”  
  
Apparently unimpressed, Derek nudged him harder and this time, Stiles really did huff in pain. He resorted to letting Derek pull him in closer, and hissed when he felt the claw break skin.  
  
He grew incredibly still, minus the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he arched backwards, trying to create some distance between Derek’s claw and his jugular. He closed his eyes and imagined what it would really be like if this was real; if it wasn’t Derek holding his life in the balance, and if, at any moment, teeth would descend on his skin and either leave him for dead, or transform him.  
  
“Please don’t,” he found himself saying quietly, nearly whispering. The hold around him loosened for a mere fraction of a second, and his eyes flew open when he heard the crash of guns clattering to the ground. The arm around his neck disappeared, and Derek pushed Stiles forward. He stumbled and glanced back, his hand immediately drifting to his neck, but Derek was already lost to the darkness, and into the open arms of the hunters he fell.  
  
***  
  
By the time Stiles ended up at his house, it was around two in the morning. He thanked whatever Gods there were that the town they’d gone to was only a couple hours away, and that he’d been able to drive his jeep back. He figured that the others had already made it back safely to their respected houses, seeing as to how Jackson had driven and Derek had as well. He didn’t really hold onto the hope that any of the pack was waiting up on him, seeing as to how he’d texted Scott hours ago to let him know he was all right.

He trudged up the short walkway to his front door, only to skip back a couple of steps and glance at his driveway, which was void of his dad’s car. He silently thanked whatever gods that existed for his father’s perennial night shift. He was caked in mud and leaves, and for once, lacking a good alibi for it.  
  
His house was quiet. It always was, but tonight it felt big and empty. Funny how spending so much time with Derek and his pack had made his home feel lonely, especially with his dad out so often. There was been a time where he’d loved the alone time, but now, it was almost too much time for him to be lost in his own thoughts.  
  
Stiles was shrugging his shirt off before he started up the stairs, feeling depleted. He’d been out helping the others with pack things for the past few nights and his sleep schedule wasn’t really a schedule anymore, so much as a nap here and there with some adderall mixed in between.  
  
“You look like hell,” he told his reflection, after he flipped on the bathroom light. “But the good kind,” he added, hoping there was such a thing. Honestly, he looked like death. Death with dirt stains on it. From the bags under his eyes to the gash on his throat—  
  
“What?” Stiles leaned in closer to the mirror and gaped when he realized that Derek actually had cut him. He blinked a couple of times before shoving himself back from the sink and throwing his hands in the air. He meant to say something about self restraint, but when he whipped around, Derek was standing there and he shrieked before stumbling backwards.  
  
Luckily, Derek caught his arm before he went tumbling through the shower curtain and into the bathtub.  
  
“There’s this painful thing—“ Stiles snatched his hand away as soon as he was upright and patted his chest roughly, “that we humans get, called a _heart attack_ , and seriously, Derek, you’re going to be the death of me.”  
  
He couldn’t help but notice the way that Derek’s eyes drifted to his neck before he frowned. “You need to be more aware.”  
  
Stiles shifted his weight to one foot and raised an eyebrow. “Aware of what? You lurking around my house when no one’s home?”  
  
Derek didn’t bother answering, which was a sure fire sign that he was upset about something, and instead of asking, Stiles motioned to him. “Have you been here the entire time, or what?”  
  
Derek was a little less dirty than Stiles, but it was obvious he hadn’t spent the four hour gap since they’d last seen each other freshening up.  
  
“I tried to track you, but I couldn’t, and I didn’t want to get caught tailing them.” Derek said. “So I came here to wait.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Stiles said, somewhat disbelievingly. “You could have turned on a light.”  
  
“Your father might have—”  
  
“Oi, Superman. Your super hearing should tell you that the Sheriff’s not in,” Stiles interrupted. “Or plain old human sight, since his car’s not in the driveway. But seeing as to how you prefer using windows over doors…” Stiles said with no real venom, “…I’m assuming you didn’t notice.”  
  
Stiles felt like he hadn’t slept in days, and his legs were cramping from the long hike the pack had endured earlier, not to mention the narrow-escape-from-death race at the very end.  
  
After pushing past Derek to make way for his bedroom, Stiles tossed a glance back at him. “So, what? Everyone’s okay, right? Or are you just here to make sure I didn’t squeal to the hunters?”  
  
He flipped the light switch to his room an half expected Derek to hiss and cower at the bright flood of fluorescence. He didn’t, but the mental image was humorous enough to cause a smile to crack Stiles’ lips.  
  
“What about any of this could possibly be funny?” Derek sounded oddly drained, which fit his deadpanned stare. Stiles blinked, wiped the grin from his face with the back of his hand, and released a puff of a sigh.  
  
“Oh, I dunno,” Stiles could feel Derek watching his every step as he moved towards his dresser to retrieve a shirt. “The fact you’ve been standing in my room, _alone_ , looking like _that_ for hours—I mean, that’s pretty funny, because it’s weird. You know that’s weird, right?”

Derek looked down at himself, disheveled and half-mopped with crusted mud, and the vein in his temple made a sudden and unexpected appearance.

Stiles waved his hands in defense. “No, no, don’t get the wrong idea. You look very dangerous. A lot like that guy every father tells his daughter not to date, which apparently girls dig. Actually, you probably are that guy because dude, you’ve got the whole sneaking-in-through-the window thing down. If it was an Olympic sport—”

Words were often lost to Derek, and when that happened, he usually tended to growl and rub his temples viciously. Stiles was good at shutting up when he felt like his life was in danger, so he sucked his lips together and waited for Derek to ask, “Did you tell them anything?”  
  
This time, Stiles served Derek the deadpanned stare, with a side of offense. “Are you really asking me that?” he asked as he pulled his shirt on.  
  
“I have to.”  
  
“You should try having faith in people,” Stiles started unbuttoning his pants, eager to climb into bed and sleep for days. “And that means that no, I didn’t tell them anything. I’m a fantastic liar.”  
  
“Not when it comes to me.”  
  
The way Derek’s tone lilted caused Stiles to pause with only one leg free from his denims. Half hunched over, he tipped his head up and gave Derek his most daring look.  
  
“Especially when it comes to you,” Stiles countered.  
  
And then Derek was stalking towards him, and Stiles was racing towards his bed, trying to place something between them before raking up a pillow for defense.  
  
“I’ll hit you,” Stiles threatened, shaking the fluff at the predator stomping towards him. “Don’t think I won’t!”  
  
Derek snatched away the pillow, and they wrestled for a moment before Stiles gave it up in favor of some martial arts stances he’d memorized from the Karate Kid. Derek shook his head, narrowly avoiding Stiles’ meager defenses, and pushed him backwards onto his bed, where he crashed with an _oomph._  
  
Stiles was flying back up before he knew it, because Derek had the collar of his shirt, and Stiles could feel the exact moment when his heart took off, skittering away in fear faster than his reflexes could follow.  
  
“You’re afraid,” Derek leaned over, sinking over Stiles like a shadow with piercing green eyes half buried beneath charcoal colored lashes.  
  
Stiles swallowed. “Oh, are you _not_ being threatening?”  
  
“You were scared earlier. Really scared. You thought I was really going to hurt you.”  
  
Stiles could feel Derek’s fingers tighten around his collar, and he grimaced when his shirt tightened to meet the cut on his neck. He could feel Derek’s breath on him, and he could feel his own breathing hasten.  
  
“I was thinking that you _could have_ ,” Stiles lifted his eyes and pulled his lips together, breathing tersely through his nose. His chest was rising and falling against Derek’s forearm when he said, “It’s not the same thing.”  
  
Derek fell a little closer, his eyes skimming Stiles like he was a book that easily read. “I felt it. You didn’t trust me.”  
  
Stiles felt anger bubble beneath the surface and groaned before rolling his eyes dramatically. He slapped Derek’s hands away from his shirt and fell backwards onto his bed, sprawling his arms to his sides, his expression waning.  
  
“I trust you, Derek.” Stiles said, very seriously. “I mean, if I didn’t, do you _really_ think I’d go racing around the woods with you, trying to save the world one supernatural mystery at a time?”  
  
Derek’s eyes darted around Stiles’ body before they met eyes again, and he said, “You trust Scott.”  
  
“Scott isn’t the one always saving me.” Stiles pointed out. Then, he let out a frustrated moan and rolled around. “This is an alpha thing, right? You're feeling alpha feelings right now?”  
  
Derek snorted as Stiles ended up on his back again, his shirt rolled halfway up his chest.  
  
“Trust is important.”  
  
“So, I’m submitting to you, oh wise and powerful Oz. I trust you. Okay? This is me surrendering to your power.”  
  
A look crossed Derek’s face that made Stiles feel distinctly aware on himself, and he suddenly felt like the worst victim of tired-talk ever, with his shirt half on and his boxers bunched. He snatched a blanket of his and pulled it over his waist, feeling utterly embarrassed. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. He wants to go to sleep and wake up and pretend today never happened.”  
  
Derek stood there another few seconds before he drifted towards the window, looking wildly amused. Stiles felt his face turn red and he threw the pillow at him before saying, “And close the window behind you, you _window-user_.” The last part was said with a conspiratorial hiss.  
  
Derek did as he was told and Stiles sat in silence, unaware that his fingers had found their way to the cut on his neck, and unwilling to admit that yeah. He _had_ __been__ afraid.


End file.
